While I suppose I shouldn't be partaking of this particular beverage today, as Twickenham and Cheltenham seem to be the stamping grounds of the Irish at the moment, I do have a certain loyalty to the dark tincture as my dad worked for them for thirty years and I had several jobs there as well...
So as writer's block continues, I thought I'd show you a pic of one I opened ten minutes ago!
Sláinte!
Well, it's trying to snow here yet again, so you have just persuaded me to come off the PC, sit by the fire, try the Graudian cryptics again and pour a nice tincture. We were supposed to be going to Bolton to collect a most gorgeous Lladro ballerina figurine that I bought for my significant birthday in June but we're not risking going out today so she'll have to wait - sob!
ReplyDeleteIrish soup.
ReplyDeleteLooks like a Marmite latte to me, but "chacun a son gout", as the grenouilles say.
ReplyDeleteHope it's not one of your home brews! I've just translated rvi's comment because I thought it meant something to do with gout which is not a nice thing to suffer from and usually comes from drinking excesses of vino collapse; anyway "Quisque a filio suo", "Mae pob un at ei hun", "Jeder auf seine eigene, 每到自己的" or "Ngamunye aye kokwakhe" as they often said at Rourke's Drift.
ReplyDeleteThat's breakfast sorted.
ReplyDeleteA bit late but marginally relevant and sort of on topic...
ReplyDeleteReceived overnight from an American friend
I went to the liquor store Tuesday afternoon on my bicycle, bought a bottle of whisky and put it in the bicycle basket.
As I was about to leave, I thought to myself that if I fell off the bicycle, the bottle would break.
So I drank all the whisky before I cycled home.
It turned out to be a very good decision, because I fell off my bicycle seven times on the way home.
I feel a Groundhog Day coming on!
ReplyDelete